The Life Model
by Getsuga TENSHOU 15
Summary: Ichigo Kurosaki is an Art student at Karakura high school, finding himself fall stupidly in love with the model attending the life drawing class. Rated M for later chapters. Alternate Universe. May get a bit confusing, but just bear with us, it'll make sense in the end :)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello. Enjoy. Goodbye.

_This bud of love by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet._ -Romeo & Juliet – Act 2, Scene 2, by William Shakespeare.

Ichigo Kurosaki slouched in his chair, closing his eyes against the amber sunlight leaking through the classroom blinds left open, which casted vertically striped shadows across his face as he lazed at his desk. It was summertime, and being on one of the top tiers of the school block around midday was practically suicide; the heat wave shrouding Karakura was simply ridiculous, reaching temperatures as high as 30°C, causing the typically idle students feeling all the more lazier than usual under the blistering heat rising into their environments. He breathed softly, surrounded by his classmates as they congregated under the air-con, top buttons undone, shirts untucked, ties unstrung, as his burnt orange hair billowed softly under the enticing cool breeze, wisping its way through the classroom. The desks had been shifted around into a square shape, with a large table covered with a white cloth positioned central to the desks, which only supported the rumours spreading like a wildfire across the school: the second and third graders were having a life model come in for them to draw.

Anyone with a brain could easily guess it wouldn't be anyone attractive. These life models never were. Keigo had literally burst into tears, scrunching his face in an repugnant manner, clenching his fists as he bounced on the spot, broadcasting his hopes on a young, sexy woman; Mizuiro on the other hand, simply sat, pouting his lips, praying silently for a fairly mature woman, but not too old so that she'd scar minds with her elderly figure. Even the females were showing signs of anticipation, as he heard Chizuru Honshō, the resident lesbian-in-denial, squirm in her seat, the exhilaration running to her very bones. Ichigo shrugged the thoughts away, raising his head to the air-con as he blanked out his absurd classmates, wondering how the hell he'd ever became friends with the lunatics in the first place. Whoever the model was, he didn't care; even if it turned out to be an elderly man, or a grotesque woman with the same girth as a sumo wrestler, a grade was a grade; by his standards, he'd never been _outstanding_at art, but he knew deep down he'd increased vastly since he started middle school. The feminine skill of art clashed with his chilled rebel reputation, so he kept it hidden, only claiming his work to be good so he could pass high school with decent grades, and not because it was one of his deepest passions.

The tutor walked through the classroom door left ajar, clapping to silence the escalating blathering resounding throughout the room, as the tension grew amongst the students. She brushed a strand of coffee stained hair from her face, pushing her studious glasses against her eyes, forming a stern expression before she began the lesson.  
"Right, class. As you know, this is a life modelling class, and it is required as part of your portfolios, and will take up a quarter of your grade. You are all here because you are all mature, responsible adults. Any silliness and you will be thrown off the course, immediately. Am I clear?"  
"Yes, Ochi-sensei."

She narrowed her eyes, scowling specifically at Keigo, as if to say he was her prime suspect.  
"That especially counts for you, Asano-san. Now, the woman-" Ichigo rolled his eyes at the male section of the class cheering at the announcement, folding his arms over his chest as he fixed his main focus on the tutor before him. "The woman who has kindly come in is new to this area; this is her first nude modelling, so show your respect and be kind to her." A heavy silence filled the air, as she left the room, the tension building as all 30 students awaited the model's entrance, holding their breaths as they mentally prepared themselves for the worst case scenarios. Ichigo turned his body away from the door, scoffing at their superficial natures, assembling his tools, as he held the HB in his tight clutch.

"Everyone, this is Orihime Inoue."

He felt a cool breeze sweep across the room, the scent of a thousand sakura blossoms scattering across him, as the silked petals fluttered into his mind. The air was thick and heavy, as he caught the eye of Keigo, who was staring with awe in the model's direction. He glanced over to Mizuiro, finding him weep with distraught, making it obvious she was a young one, who wasn't classed under his age range. His Mexican friend Chad merely huffed under his breath, as rose tinted blushes flared in his cheeks, clashing against his Hispanic complexion. Ichigo felt his hand shaking under the pressure, desperate to turn around, to gaze at the woman exuding this ambrosial presence. He shook his head, chanting his morals mentally in the form of a mantra, steadying his grasp on the pencil in a slick, clammy palm. He heard footsteps sound from around him, sounding louder and louder the closer they came, the muffled paddings of the delicate flesh pacing across the soft, royal blue carpet burying deep into his mind.

He soon found there wasn't a need to strain himself, or to lose dignity in turning to gawp at the beauty along with the other moronic, dim-witted men, as she stepped gracefully onto the table positioned directly in front of him, her torso wrapped in a short kimono. The midnight silk gleamed under the lights of the classroom, flickering similarly to a million candles, setting the room ablaze with a simple touch. The pink lining of the colour matched the petals imprinted on the kimono, as well as the blush flaring in her cheeks, the naïvety and innocence leaking from her ambience veiling her at that exact moment. His gaze drifted upwards, studying the woman before him; the fiery cascades fell from her tensed shoulders, in a smooth, sleek cut, the bangs from her face swept aside with two cyan hairpins in the shape of a six-petalled flower. Her doe eyes were deep-set, glinting what seemed to be a thousand shades of silver, each pixel adorning a new glimpse of life. Her thick lashes definitely looked natural, volumized to perfection, as they casted a split seconds worth of shadows over her cheeks whenever she blinked.

"As soon as we began, you will have 15 minutes to draw the model, and the pose will change after every interval. It's 12.15 now, so we will finish at 1.00." The tutor smiled at the model's valour, merely nodding as she took her place behind the desk stacked with marking. "Whenever you're ready, Inoue-san."

The model smiled in return, taking a deep breath, tugging at her sash, letting the robe drop to the ground. Ichigo's heart stopped, as her breasts came into view, watching her take on her position; she stood tall, confident even, with her legs spread apart in a dominant stance. Her shoulders relaxed, as her hips tilted to the right, her dainty hands placing themselves at her pelvis. He cursed silently, feeling himself strain against his uniform at the sight of the model's strident courage, considering the nerve it must take for someone with a body as beautiful as hers to stand in front of a group of 17-18 year old, severely hormonal males. Her breasts were full and firm, large beyond compare to any he'd ever seen; his mind felt perverted scrutinizing her physical traits, but his heart raced, his hand unable to remain still, as though volt after volt were ricocheting throughout his veins.

Her waist was slim, her hourglass figure protruding outwards, curving over her hips, returning to her slim thighs, her smooth legs running flawlessly. The hue of her skin was that of a goddess; impossibly clear from impurities, as the creamy skin almost gleamed as though it was skin stolen from an angel. The halo circling her head had the similar effect of a diamond sincere from illusions, as the lights reflected a mass of shades colouring her auburn hair; there were traits of copper, gold, bronze, and so much more, each strand of silk a new hue. He felt warm and flustered, tugging at his collar to undo yet another button, loosening his tie around his neck, relieving the pain coursing through him as he struggled to breathe. His eyes trailed down over the flat plane of her stomach, locking on to the trimmed tuft of auburn hair streaking down the centre of her pelvic mound, the vertical stripe stealing his breath in a swift motion. He became locked in a trance, enchanted by her sinless charm, certain he'd captured an angel right in front of his very eyes.

Her body was completely frozen, not a single muscle shifting a mere millimetre from her original position, as though she'd become a statue for the entire 15 minutes, the only sign of life in her being her occasional blink. Ichigo breathed out a sigh, bracing his hand as he began sketching. He began with her skull, drafting the contours of her neck, imagining his lips trace the smooth curves instead of his pencil. He followed on to her shoulders, pausing to look back up, using his pencil and thumb to determine proportions before carrying on.  
"Asano." He raised his head to their tutor's stern voice calling out his friend's name, watching her shadow over them, taking his phone from his hands, placing it in her drawer, much to his dismay. Ichigo rolled his eyes at his friend, who whined and whimpered into his arms, pressed against the table, as he gave him a face reading _"what can you do?"_

14 minutes or so had passed, as Ichigo came to the end of his drawing, just beginning to shade the delicate flares of her cheeks, capturing every precise detail of her body in the graphite imposter. The tutor stalked around them, making sounds of approval as she made her way around the desks. Ichigo gulped, knowing in his mind he'd shown too much enthusiasm in capturing the intricate details of this woman's body, certain he'd be scorned by his teacher for the vulgarity of his piece. He braced himself for her distempered criticisms, smudging the blush with his forefinger, trying to block out her presence lingering behind him.

"Kurosaki, this is wonderful. Well done." His eyes grew, cursing silently at the triggered attention coming his way, raising his eyes to find dozens of eyes staring at him, each in a different way. He nodded, muttering a word of thanks, burying his head deep in a sandpit on some far distant beach somewhere.

"15 minutes is up, class; take a break for a moment, get a quick refreshment, etcetera." She retired to her marking, which had considerably decreased in size from when they started, the silent environment clearly helping her mark quicker than normal. Ichigo glanced up for a fraction of a second, finding the warm, platinum eyes gazing softly at him, silently thanking him for reasons he was quite unsure about. He tore his gaze away, studying the clock, counting his breaths in time with the seconds ticking away, hoping to speed the class up, desperate to escape this Hell; through spite, the class passed even slower, as what felt to be a minute was in fact a split second ticking by. For this pose, she turned 90 degrees counter-clockwise, sitting on the table as she drew her legs in, embracing her knees.

Ichigo saw the inner pixie, chaste and pure, reaching out from her soul, brooding over the moon lurking high in the sky. He sketched wings protruding from her back, adding a hollow moon, complete with craters and shadows, casting lunar rays over the young fairy, au naturel under Mother Nature's cherishing spotlight. This time, he breathed a silent sigh of relief, upon noticing their tutor too fixated on her marking to wander about the classroom, as she merely acknowledged when the second interval was up. Ichigo covered his work, as though ashamed of how his imagination had got the better of him; he had to admit having a live model helped him out greatly, but the embarrassment of his inner deviant distorting her image into all sorts of mythical creatures was too much to take. He shook his cramped wrist, allowing the blood to pulse through into his ashen hand, stretching his arms high as he checked the clock once more.

The final pose she lay in was the worse. She stood with her back to him, revealing her smooth flesh with her sleek cascades falling over her shoulders. Her pert derriere was perfectly round, as he imagined running his palms over her body, worshipping every inch of flesh, sweeping her hair from down her back, trailing kisses down her spine as he held her in a passionate embrace. He shook his head, grumbling under his breath, taunting himself for getting carried away. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Keigo working on something hard, forming a paper airplane, aiming for the opposite side of the room.

"Asano." Keigo sighed, scrunching the paper up, throwing it backwards skilfully into the bin behind him, muttering silent profanities that went unheard towards their tutor. The model's arms lay by her side, her palms facing inwards, as he sketched away, shading and smudging as he went along. His hand became possessed by his inner degenerate, as his mind fed visions onto the paper; he began to draw her ablazed hair blowing in the soft wind, donning a halo hovering inches above her scalp, burning brighter than a million stars in nightfall. Her wings stretched out, each feather drawn with the finest detail; he became sucked into the environment of his fantasy, filled with images so vivid he believed they were real, as he relentlessly clutched on to the heart of the goddess, unwilling to let another soul merely lay eyes upon her.

He became drawn out of the trance by the sound of the lunch bell sending shrills down each and every students' ears, as they lay down their pencils, etching their names swiftly across the top of the papers. He held his disorientated gaze on her, watching her step down from the table gracefully, covering herself with the kimono, much to the students' dismay. The tutor rose from her desk, shaking the model's hand.  
"Thank you, Inoue-san. You've helped the students out a lot." She nodded, beaming a smile, as she glanced over at the young man's drawings of her, sensing something abnormal about them. She caught a glimpse of a ring of some sort circling her skull, gasping silently as she realized it was a halo. "Does anyone have any questions for Inoue-san?"  
"How old are you?" Mizuiro voiced the one question echoing throughout practically every students' minds, male or female; the model had a sense of youth to her, but she was no way the same age as them.

"Kojima, that is in no way appropriate! Apol-"  
"I'm 19," She swept in, her sweet voice chirping as she announced her age proudly. "I'm a student at Karakura University." She beamed a smile, forming her eyes into a curved shape as she grinned. The male counterparts of the class, (bar Ichigo), erupted into a frenzy of gasps and pleads, as each man took their method of wooing the model stood before them.

_"Marry me!"  
"I need a date to prom! Please go with me!"  
"Do you have any friends or sisters?"_

Ichigo kept his gaze low, hovering just above the table as he studied the fine grains laid before him; watching the wood desk was a lot more tolerable than listening to these idiots blabber on, sacrificing their self-respect through risk of humiliation, just for a beautiful woman. He gulped, hiding his blushed face behind the thick strands of hair. He was still hard, but it was easily concealed, just simply bothersome to carry for the rest of the day. Images flashed through his mind, as his subconscious imagined pinning her down against the table, and nailing her senseless against the desks; he strained against the fabric yet again, groaning silently at the surge of pain running through him.

_Okay, __**that**__ was a bad idea._

He took a deep breath rising slowly as he slung his bag over his shoulder, piling the art into a slim black folder, taking his exit with his hands tucked into his pockets. _Morons... As if any of them have a chance with her... As if any of us do..._

Orihime watched the man leave, a glum expression shielding her face for a split second. She would have liked to have spoken to him for a bit, to have had a closer look at his drawings. She felt embarrassed to admit it, but... He was pretty good at drawing her bare body. She'd never seen talent like his before; upon first glimpse, she thought it was a photo, the quality was that impressive. She watched the sea of students leave, thanking each of them as they left, feeling awkward asking her questions towards the tutor.

"That boy... What was his name again?"  
"Keigo Asano?"  
"No..."  
"Mizuiro Kojima?"  
"The boy whose drawings were excellent."

A smile cracked across the tutor's lips, as she answered her question.  
"Ichigo Kurosaki. Art has always been his strong point, but for whatever reason, he doesn't seem to show any will to follow it."  
"I... Is it okay if I asked for a copy of his drawings? I mean, I'd pay for them of course! But, I... Uh..." She paused, playing with the silk sleeves of her kimono. "He's so talented."  
"Of course, I understand. There's no need for you to pay for them though, Inoue-san. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give you a copy. I'll ask him about it after lunch."  
"Thank you, Ochi-san." She bowed once, taking her leave from the classroom as she slipped next door, ready for a déjà vu for her second contract of the day.

"She wants to WHAT?!"  
"Have a copy of your drawings."  
"Wha- WHAT?! Dammit, NO!"

"Kurosaki, you're overreacting."  
"Like hell I am! There's no way she's ever getting a copy of the freaking drawings!" His tutor crossed her arms over her barely existent chest, a veil of authority masking her face.  
"Kurosaki, people are going to have to see them at some point. And I'd really like to put them up in the Art gallery the school is holding."  
"God dammit, I said NO!"

She narrowed her eyes, giving him a cold, scornful glare. His emotions melted against him, as a tenderer look shrouded over his face. "Gomen, Sensei. I... The drawings are a little embarrassing, I feel uncomfortable sharing them."  
"Can you share them with me at least?"  
"I... Guess..." He retrieved his folder, taking out the 3 A3 pieces of paper holsted inside. He spun the paper around, swallowing his fears as she absorbed the stories depicted in the drawings; a lifetime's worth of angst and emotion burned strongly through the sketches, the innocence and naïvety of her soul gleaming in the puppy dog irises, the reflections of her eyes casting a glimpse of her life, clear for them to see.

The detail in the moon flaring in the midnight sky, the ivory blossoms scattering across the nightfall canvas shimmering like a thousand blades, settling around her tender body, not an inch of flesh disrupted or distained by the incoming metallic slivers, as though an orb of golden lights protruding from her halo clouded her body, refracting any imminent danger heading her way. He felt the heat rising inside of his stomach, as he flicked through the sketches, his palms becoming moist as his hands shook slightly with a nervous trait.  
"Kurosaki, I strongly advise that you let me display these in the gallery. It's only natural to feel somewhat uncomfortable showing these, as it was your first time in a life drawing class; but you have to trust me, these are remarkable. It would benefit you and the rest of the class greatly to use your work as exemplar pieces."

"I just don't want **_her _**seeing them..."  
"Why is that? She's been doing life modelling all day after your lesson, Kurosaki; you're the first and only person she's asked to have a copy of the drawings." He felt flusters rise in his cheeks, embarrassed at his special treatment. "Please let me give her copies." He blew out a sigh, sensing he wasn't set for winning the battle, surrendering with a stubborn folding of his arms. "Good." The start of the class began leaking in through the door, peering curiously through the glass panel of the door, ponderous as to why their classmate was yelling.

Ichigo glowered, taking his seat at the desks now back in their typical layout, in solitary rows and columns; his seat lay next to the window, as he began muttering under his breath, complaining incoherently about being closest to the exterior heat source leaking through the glass panels, and furthest away from the air-con blasting the cold air directly into the middle columns of students. He took a brief glance over to the clock, tapping his pencil in time to the ticking sounding from the second hand. Lunch had lasted an hour, leaving them at 2.00 PM, which meant there was still and hour and half of school left; he cursed silently, tearing his gaze out of the window, praying for some sort of distraction. He was pissed off. All he wanted was to go home and relax for the rest of the evening, but the thought of his cool, consoling bed was simply something out of his reach.

The last remaining lesson of the day was English, which from past experience had often enough passed fleetingly, as though the lesson itself had lasted a few minutes, at least. But in the heat sweeping over them, causing the already hot and bothered students to whine and bleat over the searing fever, he knew it would stretch out to an absurd degree, consuming their lives with a monotonous mind-numbing, as the futile words blabbered from their tutor's incessant lips. Her back remained to them at all times, scrawling indecipherable sentences across the blackboard. For the some, the incomprehension came from the lack of ability to pick up on the English language, for others, it was merely the heat snuffing their ears and minds, as the verbal words dodged their lobes, the written characters jumping about on their canvas, as though alive and animated, tormenting the wearied students for their perplexed state. He shifted his gaze outside, finding his sisters' class sat in a circle on the grass, the cool breeze cruising through their hair, as they lay reading, hosting their lessons outside, sparking somewhat of an irritation in his mind. Behind them, the second graders jogged around the paved track, some trudging with their clique as they conversed, moving slowly against the heated atmosphere, as if to attempt gaining a tan. The seconds lugged, rupturing their souls, carting their sanity to the deepest pits of Hell, where Ichigo was certain it'd be a whole lot more refreshing there than it would be in this greenhouse of a classroom. He definitely wanted to get home and rest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his sisters' class rise from the grass, heading back inside as he glimpsed up at the clock. The middle school built into the secondary school he attended always finished at 3.00 PM, whereas he had an extra half an hour of lessons. He frowned, double checking the clock, certain that a whole hour couldn't possibly have passed in such a short amount of time; he shook his head, scowling and pouting at the irrepressible way in which the lesson had hastened. He reclined in his seat, resting his head in his arms against his desk, as he began tapping his hand against the table, droning a faint hum to himself, hoping to accelerate the lesson with a de rigueur distraction. His ears pinned up, like a canine being called by its owner, upon hearing his tutor call his name in an unyieldingly stern tone. He brought his head up, flustering as he looked up confused, his eyes glazed over with lassitude. The somnolence in his disjointed stutters triggered the class to laugh and snicker at his fragmented state; he raised his eyebrows, skimming his gaze across the clock face, his eyes growing wide with his abashed state, the numb feeling surging at an electrifying rate, clusters of scarlet rising in his tanned skin, blushing as he saw the abnormal time-skip; it was 3.20 PM, as he realized he'd fallen asleep in the middle of class.

"I hope I'm not boring you, Kurosaki."

"Uh, no, Ochi-sensei; gomen, I fell ill…" She scowled at his languished state, as he rested his head back on his arms, negating the existence of the environment shrouding him, hoping to return to his unconscious state.

"Kurosaki, do you need to visit the nurse's office?" He shook his head, his voice muffled under the heat of his flesh. "Well, then there's only 10 minutes left of the lesson; if you're going to rest, then do it quietly." She turned, continuing her lecture, as he looked up, finding three strips of writing sketched across the blackboard. The first was performed in Kanji, the second phonetically, the final in English characters; he recognised it instantly to be of Shakespeare's work, as he squinted his eyes, reading through the different rows:

_夏の熟成息によってこの愛のつぼみは、我々は次会う麗しい花を証明するかもしれない。_

_Natsu no jukusei iki ni yotte kono ai no tsubomi wa, wareware wa tsugi au uruwashī hana o shōmei suru kamo shirenai._

_This bud of love by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet._

His gaze held on the words for a moment, his inner philosopher reading deep into the meaning of its occurrence, his mind thinking of _her_ as he read each word separately. _This bud of love…_ the beautiful woman, fresh in her field… _summer's ripening breath… _the heat wave passing over the town, shielding them in a feverent embrace… _may prove a beauteous flower when we next meet_… something breathtakingly angelic would happen the next time they met… He held his breath, counting the seconds of the last remaining minutes of the day, a part of his mind in deep fear of the uncanny warnings traced across the events of that day; when the bell finally rang, the class rose simultaneously, emitting groans as the tutor ordered them to return to their seats.

"Homework for tonight, read the next Scene of _Romeo and Juliet_, and then write up the meanings using the techniques we discussed today. Class dismissed." She began wiping the blackboard, sweeping the dust from her hands as she took her seat at her desk, delving into the pile of work on her desk, which had built up vastly since she'd last looked at it. Ichigo slung his bag over his shoulder, as he made a dash for the door, blanking his classmates in an attempt to escape the superfluous pleasantries that stemmed at the start and end of every fruitless school day.

A/N: Sorry if you're getting square blocks across the page, it's only the kanji to the words. Also, I think it's Kanji, if it's Katakana or Hiragana, I'm sorry! Just lemme know if I got it wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: LEMONS! 3 ...Hello there, everyone. This chapter may not make sense to a few of you, I'll quickly explain: Ichigo is using a dream world to support his view that he will never have a chance with Orihime, and there is a lot of Shakespearean quotes and language used. Obviously, I can't take credit for the quotes, some of them I wrote myself, others are by Mister William Shakespeare, another from some guy who wrote a poem _"To His Coy Mistress"_. There's too many to go through each one explaining. Enjoy mah friends.

_"Stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me."  
_-_-_Romeo and Juliet: Act 2, Scene 2, William Shakespeare

"WELCOME! HOME! ICHI-nuh" Isshin Kurosaki greeted his son with his typical "surprise" assault, landing him with a fist in the face, grunting as he rolled back in mind-numbing agony; Ichigo stepped into his house in a nonchalant manner, his eyes remained shut as his calm and collected nature lingered in the air of the family clinic, unwilling to show any signs of weakness in his profile. His father held up his forefinger, as though surrendering under the pressure of his already brutalized face. "Good work, my son... I have nothing more to teach you."

"Tch... You bastard, you say that every freaking time! Are you ever gunna give me a break?!"  
"Perhaps one day! But that would eliminate the element of surprise!"  
"As if it's a surprise anyway! You do it whenever I walk into a new freaking room!"  
"Be grateful, ill-bred! You get lessons for free! I could easily charge you for your training!"

Yuzu and Karin Kurosaki lingered in the corner of the room, the latter looking as unamused as always, whilst the former had a pouted look imprinted onto her face; both twins studied the brawl before them, both as blasé about their fights as usual. Karin slouched against the sofa, unchanged from her sailor fuku, as she flicked through the channels hosted on the television, whilst Yuzu stood clad in a blue floral skirt and matching sleeveless hoodie, donning a white apron and a makeshift chef's hat. A wooden spoon was clutched in one hand, as she used her free hand to sweep a strand of her ash brown bangs from across her face, tucking it behind her ear, as she raised her voice to split the bout.

"Good afternoon, Ichi-nii-san! Did you have a good day at school?" Her smile seemed sincere, as her polite characteristics escaped into the atmosphere, splitting the two children up with her simple words. Ichigo backed away from his father, pushing him away with a coup de grace blow to the face, ruffling his little sister's hat with his palm.  
"I guess so; you?"  
"Uh huh! Today we learnt about Algebra! I was a bit slow to pick it up at first, but Sensei said she was proud of how well I'd understood it in the end!" Ichigo smiled at his sister's innocence, reaching over the counter to grab an apple, throwing it in the air, and catching it in his swift paw. He took a bite, turning his body away as he headed for the stairs. "Nii-san, where are you going?"  
"I'm going to my room."  
"But I was just about to start dinner!"

He blanked out her pouts, as he pushed past his old man, brushing his shoulder against his, sighing as he clambered the stairs at a leisurely pace. He kept his head low, his gaze not drifting any higher than the rug carpeting the steps, his mind too distant to think about anything, anyone, but _her._

He reached his bedroom, blowing out a dispirited sigh as he rested against the closed door. He wasn't in the mood for his family's crap. Not today. He slung his school bag onto the chair beside his desk, finishing the apple and tossing it into the bin, collapsing against his bed with a faint groan escaping his lips. Just what the hell was wrong with him? He'd never been this bothered by a girl before. And she was an _older _one at that. He wasn't Mizuiro; he didn't chase after the mature women. What the hell had gotten into him?

He studied the chalk-white ceiling. He couldn't make any sense of it. So he had his eye on a woman he had no chance with. It wasn't exactly life threatening. He'd certainly had greater problems in his time, so why was it something as ludicrous as this was causing him so much bother. He blew out a frustrated sigh, rolling to his side, as he took on the recovery position; his drew his knee up, hooking his foot behind the opposite leg, as his arms stretched out, supporting his head as he clutched onto his pillow with clenched fists, scrunching around the fabric as he cursed. Why did she want copies of the drawings? What was so special about them that made her want to hold on to them? He couldn't make sense out of any of this, whatsoever. Did that mean she liked him? Or that she liked the drawings? Someone as beautiful and mature as her would only be interested in college men; he may have been 17, but to her, he was still a mere child.

He grimaced at that thought, slamming his fists against his pillow, low growls escaping his lips as he grumbled profanities under his breath; he was certain he was stressing over nothing, as that was how he saw it whenever his classmates whined about women, but it sure as hell didn't feel like nothing. Would nothing take hold of his heart in a stone-cold, granite-tough grasp, and crush it under the spite? It may have been a minor problem in comparison to his past, but it was damn well a problem he could do without.

A consoling knock sounded from the opposite side of the door, as he convulsed, jolting upright with a deep breath, uttering a faint sigh of "come in". Isshin stalked in the corner of the door, holding it ajar as he peeked his head through the gap, leaving Ichigo to tear his gaze away, crossing his arms in an arrogant nature.  
"The hell do you want, old man?"

Isshin frowned, not in a childish pouted way as he did before, but in a fatherly way; this serious side of him rarely came out to view, as he shielded his hidden anguish and sorrows under the goofy masque, combating his pained past with a comical form. He stepped into the silent room, closing the door; Ichigo held his breath at the click sounding from the handle, flinching as his father took a seat next to him on his bed, rubbing his stubbled chin as he searched for a way to break the ice between father and son. His skin was darker than Ichigo's, forming a tanned complexion and a slick black haircut adorned across his scalp; the occasional tuft of gray sprouted from the darkness, only supporting his son's term of "old man", much to his dismay.

"What is it, son?" His voice seemed deeper than normal, a trace of concern lacing the tone of his voice as he addressed the adolescent before him.  
"What's what?" Isshin rolled his eyes, giving him a faint punch on the shoulder; Ichigo lay still, leaving his gaze hovering just inches off the ground.  
"I can see it in your face, Ichigo. Something is troubling you, something so far deep; you won't share it with even your old man." Ichigo bit his lip, remaining silent as he shook his head. "I'm not going to go on about it or lecture you, but you know... Whatever problem you face, you face for a reason. Your mother wouldn't ever forgive me if she saw her son grow up to be the type of man who never acts with this." He tapped the side of his skull, lingering just inches above his temple. "Sometimes it helps just to scream it at the elements. When I was your age, whenever I had a problem, I'd take a vacation down to the beach, just me, and I'd scream every single problem I had at the ocean."

Ichigo scoffed at the image, raising his eyebrows as he tilted his head to face his father.  
"Didn't people think you were sorta mental?"  
"Who cares what they thought? They're not me, and they never will be; you can't ever know 100% what's going on inside someone's head, and even if you could, it'd be a bit of a burden to hear everyone single person's issues flood into your head all at once." Ichigo nodded, a small part of him shocked by his father's sudden philosophy. "People that judge others are the true insecure ones." He rested his hand on his son's knee, patting it reassuringly. "Whatever issue you have, if you feel so strongly about it that you can't share it with another person, the water is a great listener. And a short vacation would probably be good for you. So, just promise me you'll think about it."

Ichigo grimaced, his conscience kicking him forward like a cowardly child, beckoning his friend to voice his words for him. He took a deep breath, preparing his words in his mind, meeting his father's consoling gaze.  
"Before mom, did you ever have any... Trouble with... Uh... Trouble with women?" He held his breath, half-expecting his father to fall into a fit of laughter, to jump to the window and yell it to the world, mocking his stupidity. To his surprise, his father grew a thin smile, taking him into a tight bear hug, wrapping his arms around his torso; Ichigo's back stiffened at the hug coming from out of the blue, his arms shifting about as he was unsure where to place them. He soon stood corrected, as his father's so-called comical tone infiltrated through the feigned masque.

"Ichigo, my son! At last, my son is coming to his old man for advice on se-" Ichigo launched his fist at his face, as a thousand distempered embers shot through the atmosphere, scorching his father's face in his enraged state.  
"God dammit, can you not be serious for one freaking minute?" Isshin whimpered, as tears meandered down the muscled contours of his cheeks, as he shied in the corner, embracing the barren wall.  
"MASAKI, MY LOVE! Our son is being so cold to me! What should I do? Tell me, my dear!" Ichigo scowled, narrowing his eyes.

"Uh... What are you doing?" Isshin pouted, sticking his tongue out to his son as he continued to ravish the wall with an affectionate touch. Ichigo glowered at the insane man, as he ran a hand through his auburn hair, watching him stain the wallpaper with his tears, rambling on about random stuff to the non-existent memorial. "Uh, dad... You do realize the poster is downstairs, right?" Isshin immediately snapped to attention, convulsing away from the wall as he studied the room.

"Huh? What do you know, you're right. I should really equip every single room in the house with the memorial! That way every single room will be well equipped for my turns! Come downstairs, son. Spend some time with your family." His tone sounded too sincere, as if he'd barely made an attempt to cover up his intention.  
"Uh huh, right; you mean "come downstairs so you can repeat your rants with your props in place this time"? Jeez, the one time I open up, and you still act like a freaking kid!" Isshin lowered his head, as though ashamed of his actions, similarly to an infant once scorned.

"You're right, Ichigo, I apologize. Carry on."  
"I... Don't know where to even start,"  
"Start from your heart, son. I'm here for you any time you need it." He blew out a sigh, vanishing his fears in a single second, letting the words ramble out chronologically of their own accord.  
"It's gunna sound stupid saying it..."  
"No problem is stupid. Only one that isn't shared. A problem is a problem if it is hurting you."

"There's a girl... And she's an older one..."  
"Not too old, I hope son."  
"Shut it. She's at University, and she came in as a model today..."  
"And you like her?"

Ichigo blushed at his father's blunt phrasing, summing his problem up in his simple words. He lowered his gaze, studying the navy carpet for a moment, before nodding.  
"She doesn't like you?"  
"I... I don't know..."  
"Then why not ask her? It's as I said, you can't tell what anyone else is thinking, so the only person who knows the answers is you, or her."  
"I... She was a life model... And I drew her... And she wanted a copy of the drawings... I don't know what that means, I mean, what girl wants to see her naked body drawn by a kid?"  
"You're not a kid. You're practically 18, what makes you think you're a kid? Did she say that?"  
"No, but she's in University. I'm in high school. She's bound to think that."

He took a deep breath, adding more to the story than he necessarily needed.  
"What's her name?" Ichigo froze, pausing as he thought back. He had never been great at names, but even for him this was ridiculous; he could remember every little detail about this woman, even seen a glimpse into her sorrowful past, without a single utter escaping her lips. Her name had been said loud and clear so many times, so why the hell couldn't he remember?!

"I... I'm not sure..." He admitted, biting his lip, ashamed at his confession. "Jeez, I sound pathetic." Isshin posed a thinking face for a moment, as Ichigo smiled weakly, turning and lying flat on the bed on his stomach, burying his head in his pillows; he slipped out of the door, sensing his son required a little private time to cool off. A faint pitter patter began outside, as Ichigo raised his head to find a drizzle of rain beginning to leak from the Heavens, as his dazed profile absorbed what little sunlight was shining from behind the veil of mist and storm-clouds. His gaze drifted over to his school bag slouching across his desk chair, reminding himself that he had homework, regardless of if he was in the mood for reading or not.

He yawned, determined to get the work done so he could sleep peacefully, stretching and rising from his bed, glimpsing at his alarm clock as he passed the bedside table, absorbing the time into his memory. He'd arrived home at 4, so only 5 minutes had passed since his return, as the clock blinked 4:05 in red digital figures. He scooped up his bag, placing it on his work-desk, as he took his seat, slouching against the comfy office chair, readjusting the height as he spun fractionally from side to side. He retrieved his battered copy of Romeo and Juliet buried deep within his school bag, skimming through the dog-eared pages until he came to the assigned Act. His weary eyes attempted to read through the English words, using his brain to translate them into something a little less bothersome. His mind soon found alternative pleasures, forming its own form of entertainment; through the lack of co-operation, he soon drifted off, his dream world tainted with the presence of _her_.

(OOO)

He woke in a garden, lying on his back, finding himself in a field full of eager grass blades, glazed with a dew residue, slicing past his ears, reaching for the near-evening sun spreading its final rays for the day; he lifted his head from the ground, finding his feet on the earth as he studied his surroundings. A figure lurked in the near-distance, a manor built of the finest ivory-hued blocks, with a leaking aura of wealth, an olden day music blasting from the walls; the occasional woman skulked the grounds, clad in long, billowing dresses, their faces bare from impracticalities, as they clutched onto a book of some sort, enjoying the sun's final rays; a simple mockery of the system. He took a glimpse down at his clothing, noting a baggy white shirt, whose buttons were undone, revealing his finely toned chest beneath the layers of fabric, and a sleek pair of black hose, matched with mid-calf high boots.

There was a pebbled path before him, dispersing off into two paths circling a spurting fountain, with water as clear as a crystal, with a tint of the richest blue, shimmering softly under the golden light, like an ocean-full of rich droplets. The pebble-lined walkway continued once meeting, through an arch placed perfectly within a row of finely-cut hedges, as his eyes panned in, locking on to two figures emerging from the horizon. Two female silhouettes lurked in the shadows, their blithe voices chattering away as he unintentionally listened in to their conversations, hoping to God he'd figure out where he was, and just what the hell was happening.

"So, I did say: Hence, horrible villain, or I'll spurn thine eyes like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head. Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd'in brine, smarting in lingering pickle." He scowled at the use of English, an older version at that; talk about making it difficult.  
"Indeed; a false face must hide what the false heart doth know. Beauty starv'd with that severity cuts beauty off from all posterity."  
"Thou venomed whoreson clack-dish! I think thou wast created for men to breath themselves upon thee. Forever as loathsome as a toad."  
"And what she did sayeth in return?"  
"_Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit._"

Both women fell into a fit of laughter, as they submerged from the shadows, features finally coming into view for Ichigo to absorb. Both women looked young, they couldn't have been any older than 20, as they linked arms, their free hands clutching hold of a parasol to keep their skin free of the sun's rays. They couldn't have been any more than 30 metres away or so, as his feet walked of their own accord, stepping closer to take in their image. Both were clad in the long dresses he had seen on other women, both low cut, revealing much cleavage. The one on the right was partially taller and considerably thinner, with blonde hair as pure as a new-born infant, drawn back in a neatly tamed bun, clashed with a cold, icy stare haunting her thin, stern eyes. Her dress was a distasteful olive shade, darker than a thousand emerald wisps shrouding her with an amenable envious nature, as the neckline was stitched with white lace, amplifying her breast line. Her waist was slim, drawn in with a hidden corset, as she held a parasol matching the same hideous green of her dress. Her pouted lips were stained ruby, as her venomous tongue spat words his mind was still in the process of translating.

Her shorter counterpart held wispy brown hair, her deep-set eyes feigning innocence he doubted had ever once existed, shadowing a thousand shades darker than the deepest cocoa powder; she wore a dress the shade of a deep burgundy, with a row of diamonds hoisted around her neck in a chokehold, her ruffled sleeves cutting short at her elbows, her plump figure barely concealed; she held a dignified stance, as though disgusted to look at anything or anyone but her own reflection. Both women held a distinct trait of pride, a malicious nature rising within them. He gulped, drawing out his breath as he approached them, a sudden heroic nature overwhelming him in an out of the blue motion. He opened his mouth to speak, as the words became lodged in his throat, reflective of a mute nature on his part.

"O illiterate loiterer! May the worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul." The taller woman spoke, her eyes narrowing as she studied the abnormal man before her. "Are you of royal consent?"  
"Nay." He surprised himself with his sudden vocabulary, as though the ability to speak their lesser language washed over him, and stained his capabilities permanently.  
"Are you sure you are not the Queen's bastard? Not many arouse with such repelling distempered hair." He scowled at them as they fell into a fit of proper laughs, emitting a sense of snidery to his mind.

"These flamed locks of mine be irrelevant. But who the maiden you speak of?"  
"Princess _In-the-way_."  
"Who?" She scoffed at his stupidity, rephrasing herself.  
"Her Ladyship, Duchess Orihime Inoue. In-a-way. In-the-way." His breath caught in his throat, as the fragments of his mind repieced together, memories flowing back to his core once more.

"What be it to you, devil-mon? Now, out of my sight! Thou dost infect my eyes." The shorter one spoke, as she flipped her hand away, turning her head in a sudden uncomely snort of derision. His valiance suddenly accumulated within, as he stepped forward protectively.  
"Thou art not so big as a round little worm; although with such a girth, I beg to differ. Wherein art thou good, but to taste sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? Wherein cunning, but in craft? Wherein crafty but in villainy? Wherein villainous, but in all things? Wherein worthy but in nothing?" He shifted his gaze to the taller woman, glowering her rage at his offensive words.  
"Thou droning onion-eyed whey-face! Apologize sincerely!"  
"Nay, you starvelling eel-skin. Thou sham'st the music of sweet news, by playing it to me with so sour a face. But you insult the icon of innocence, first insult me flawlessly."  
"Thou mangled rampallian horn-beast!"  
"Devil's laughter but one of mine. Speak again, thou bawdy unwash'd hedge-pig, as ragged as a Wart. He jests at scars that never felt a wound."

He kept his eyes thick with a strident nature, as two more women appeared in the scene, a glint of fiery compassion drawing his eyes in instantly. He turned his gaze, meeting two buxom women in his path; one he recognized instantly, the other a stranger to his mind. He felt his knee buckle under, as though some unearthly presence told him to bow, his head remaining low, as his eyes burned when gazing upon the beauty without consent.

"You flaunt such breast with pride? You think yourself be floral, but you are in fact bee; tiny. Insignificant. No wonder the men flee upon sight of you, harlot." The motherly voice sounded from beside the blazing sun, scorning the arrogant women opposite them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed them cough nervously, turning and retreating their attacks, as though crushed under the beauteous ambience leaking from the sun, burning any who came close, except for her motherly companioned North Star. "Arise, incendium soldier." Ichigo lifted his gaze, tilting his head at her words, muttering an "oh" as he realized she was addressing him; he knew _incendium_ was Latin, meaning 'fire' or 'flame', probably a connection to his hair. He sighed, figuring wherever he was, he wasn't going to escape the ginger taunts.

He rose from his knee, daring not lay eyes upon the sun oozing warmth from her seraphic soul, instead keeping his gaze upon the woman next to her. Her long flowing hair had more waves than all the oceans combined, and was tinted an unusual colour, a shade combined of strawberry and vanilla, with the scent of the aforementioned. The strawberry-blonde locks swept back into a perfect cut, as the strands lingered beside her rosy cheeks, framing her defined jaw. Her gleaming cyan gaze came bordered by broad eyelashes, au naturel under her bare face; her full lips glazed with a faint tint of glossy rose was accompanied by a distinct beauty mark, located under the right side of her mouth. Her dress was a beautiful shade of crimson, enhancing her blonde beauty, as the hue clashed perfectly with her cream skin, revealing her curvaceous figure and her Everest breasts, peeking into view, causing blushes to rise in his cheeks, in his typically shy characteristics.

Around her neck, lay a thin golden necklace, whose pendant appeared to be tucked between her cleavage, with the same ruffled sleeve effect as was on every dress he'd seen so far. She too had her arm linked with her companions, holding her parasol between the two. "Do well to ignore the witches. They are of lunar origin; steal light from the sun, and pass it off as their own." She held her head high, as though sickened by their actions towards her friend, and this stranger before her. "Diana so virtuous, but yet she bore such devilish children."  
"_Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon_,"  
"Who is already sick and pale with grief?"  
"Ay."

Ichigo smirked softly at the references, certain he was dreaming, due to the vivid nature of his surroundings, which felt all too real for his liking. A heavy silence filled the air, as he attempted to shift his gaze towards the partially shorter woman, whose hair flickered softly like a candle in a dark night. He gulped, certain that if it was a dream, then no one would mind him saying this:

"_It is my lady. Oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were! She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that_?" He managed to sustain eye contact with her, taking a moment to take his fill of her features, or he'd feel guilty for gawping at the others and not her, the focus of his true love. Her hair was as perfect as always, spun from the finest silk, stitched with the finest thread, the auburn hue similar to his, but at the same time, oh so different in comparison. Her doe gaze flickered a soft silver shade, like the purest Magnesium ribbon held against the blazing flame. Her eyes reflected images like a soft pool of water, showing a glimpse of the purest life held by the maiden before him; they too were bordered ornately by her volumized lashes, casting shadows over her rouged cheeks at his kind words, as she blushed a million shades of rose, far brighter than he'd ever seen, putting a hidden shame to the stars that twinkled in nightfall.

The sun began setting on its navy blue splashed canvas, leaving the real beauty to light up, as the morning birds sang in delight of their early rise. His gaze drifted south, as his smile crept over his face with a heavenly aura, content with his life at that exact moment, not wishing for a life better than this. Her breasts were covered perfectly by her corseted dress, so that her naïvety was put in place, but enough open to the naked eye, so that a sense of adulthood escaped into the atmosphere. The dress itself was so intricately designed, he didn't know where he could possibly begin to describe the beauteous design. The bodice was a silked pearl shade, with a strip of gold running down the middle, drawing her hour-glass figure into a clear view. Her sleeves were puffed out and golden, leaving her enlonged sleeves covering her hands, showing a pearl-white laced glove, fingerless and dainty, fitting the contours of her hand perfectly. The skirt held the same silked base pearl colour, as the golden strip curved out in a concave manner, trailing down to the ground, as her train led many inches behind. She lifted her hand, placing it against her flaring cheek, as the glove relished in the touch of the warm skin beneath it.

Ichigo held back his groans, remembering a line suited perfectly for this situation: _See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!_  
"Ay me! Great soldier, what be thy name?"  
"She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a wingèd messenger of heaven, unto the white, upturnèd, wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, when he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds, and sails upon the bosom of the air."  
"Be that thy name? That be awfully long." He smirked softly at her playful nature emerging from the hidden depths of her innocent masque.  
"Ichigo Kurosaki, milady."  
"That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. No title? Alas, Kurosaki, it is. I thank thee for coming to my defence."

She held out her hand, as her elven face portrayed the finest smile; he blessed her dainty hand with a soft kiss, raising his eyebrows as his conscious once again took over.  
"Prithee, forgive such boldness: thou lips are like full, ripe cherry, which when they open, discover a treasury greater than such as I have ever seen." Her smile seemed delicately sincere, as she shifted her gaze away from the man attempting to woo her, turning to her side as she addressed her companion.

"Milady Rangiku; be the ball endeth upon the hour?"  
"Indeed it be, Milady. Cometh, for we must return to the dance, now you hath had fresh air." Her gaze flickered back to the man before her, as a wave of guilt flickered inside of her soul.  
"Are you here by invite, good Sir?"  
"I... Nay... I stumbled across here, as Columbus did the Americas. I am a poor pilot, as I did not intend to meet you. Alas, meeting thou acquaintance hath been an honour, milady."  
"Well... Your attire is hardly fitting for such an occasion, dear soldier. An clothing we find, you may enter."  
"Milady, as an owl visage, wise not to invite a mere stranger into one's abode." The star casted a wary glimpse towards him, noting his lower class clothing with a faint scowl. "Milady?"

"My brother hath wardrobes of cast-offs, that which neglect its intentions, as they still be in-time."  
"Thou would lend me clothing?"  
"Ay."  
"Milady, I thank thee for such kindness."  
"Gratification be lavish, yet fruitless, as is a Clementine tree in summer streamed air. Now, cometh hither, soldier."

The two women turned fully, walking down the path back towards the manor, as Ichigo trailed behind, still uncertain as to what the hell was happening. Only a few minutes ago, he'd been struggling to translate anything, and now, he was spouting it all naturally from his mind, as if he'd always had originated from England. This was definitely a dream. There was no way this was real. Either has was insane, or everyone else was, and he had to admit the second appealed to him more out of both theories. He shook the thoughts from his mind, building up the momentum to close the growing gap between the two, running after them in an unsophisticated manner.

_Later..._

_Yup, someone is definitely insane._

Ichigo stood in a chamber of some sort, surrounded by mirrors with not a single inch of wall left visible to the naked eye through the reflective covering. He was still unsure about this whole thing. People say that if you pinch yourself and you feel pain, then you're not dreaming. He'd checked this theory countless times, and each time he flinched away in pain, cursing at himself for inflicting the harm just for the sake of checking reality. He was definitely dreaming. There was no way he was _this_ insane; there was no way he was going to believe this was a _past life_. No, it couldn't be. It had to be a dream. A small part of him discarded any doubts his mind presented, simply because whether he was dreaming or not, he was in the presence of _her_. He only wanted to be near her for a small time, whether it was real or not.

He studied his reflection before him, taking note of his image; he glimpsed into his eyes and saw a man, a man unfamiliar to his mind. He had few memories, bar the events that had happened just now, his mind was blank, as though a dam had been built, suppressing vital memories from his heart. He didn't know this woman, he had only just met her, and yet here he was, acting as though he had known her his entire life. He knew her more than he knew himself. His hair seemed longer, ironic as he didn't know what his previous life had been, or whether he had ever had one. By logic, he couldn't possibly have come to the Earth in an adult form, he must have grown up at some point; he must have had a childhood. The burnt orange strands stretched past his defined jawline, his toned skin a partial tan, mixed with a creamed glaze; the tufts of his spiked bangs slicked past his narrowed eyes, a deep shade of chocolate, bordered with thick black lashes. The faint trace of blush rose in his cheeks, as he breathed out an icy sigh, his features glimmering amber through the candles flickering in the corner of his eye. Just who was he? He'd said his name before; he knew he was _Ichigo Kurosaki_. But what did that name mean? How could he know his name but not a single memory or detail about himself? He'd known his hair colour too, but he was surprised to look in the mirror and see himself in this new form for the first time. The muscled contours of his neck led on to his broad shoulders, as he felt the warmth of his toned chest blaze through his flesh and clothes; he frowned, remembering the maids' gasps as they saw the strength of his figure, attracted to him instantly for his muscled torso.

He couldn't make sense out of any of this. All he knew was whether it was real or not, he could say or do what he wanted, be as bold as he desired, and there would be no consequences on his part. He roamed the rooms, blissfully unaware of where it was he was trailing to, but at the same time he knew the layout of the manor like the back of his own hand. He found the ballroom with ease, following the scent of lust to pinpoint the location of _her_.

"Milady," Orihime turned gracefully, lifting her skirt up daintily, courtesying to the new man before her; Ichigo wore a white silk shirt, cold against his warm skin, and as soft as a thousand petals, with a frilled neck and wrists, much to his dismay. The royal blue doublet had slightly puffed-out sleeves, embracing his strongly muscled arms tightly, causing a barely fitting over-layer set to burst at any sudden muscle change. The brass buttons held the front together, decorated intricately with a silver cross-hatching effect across the torso. A pair of matching royal blue hose completed the look, as he felt uneased, tensed, even, at the social event surrounding him, still confounded by what was happening.

"O, Milord Kurosaki. I must say this environment is most becoming of you." He smirked in response, surprising her as he stepped forward, a faint squeak leaving her blossom lips as his hands took hers.  
"Wilt thee bless me with a dance, Milady?" She paused for a moment, flashing a glance towards her companion, as if searching for consent from her mother figure.

"Ay, I may." She smiled up at him, clasping one hand in his, placing the other around his body, whilst his free hand snaked across hers, coiling at her waist. The movements began slowly, as Ichigo merely gazed into the eye of the sun, not once scorched by the angelic rays protruding from her soul.

"Prithee tell me, Milady. What is it that which attracts the attentions of wealth, as a magpie to cutlery?"  
"My brother," She smiled up at him, correcting his footsteps with a simple nudge of her leg.  
"What be the occasion?"  
"Why, the celebration of his birth, of course. Duke Sora Inoue did transpire upon this date many a year ago, 34 to be precise."

The movements of the dance began to speed up, as Ichigo tightened his grip around her waist, spinning quicker, before bending her forward, and holding her in a protective embrace. Orihime looked up to his eyes, the colour of the finest chocolate, glazed with a rich honey drizzle, as an unmistakable emotion lingered in his gaze. An undeniable trace of lust, the same gaze many a men had used on her to trick her into where they wanted her. She shook herself mentally, changing the subject in her typical naïve nature.  
"Ay me, for one still learning to become so learned so fast; how is it thy learnt such ability, soldier?"

"So lust, thought to a radiant angel link'd, will sate itself in a celestial bed." She pouted as he changed the subject, as he ran his fingers down the curves of her figure.  
"This momentary joy breeds months of pain; this hot desire converts to cold disdain. Prithee, depart."  
"The nobleness of life is to do thus, when such a mutual pair and such a twain can do't. I love thee, Duchess; by yonder blessèd moon I vow, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-"

"If thee is to swear, O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb; lest that thy love prove likewise variable."  
"What shall I swear by?"  
"Well, do not swear. Although I may joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight. It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say "It lightens.""  
"Love is a spirit all compact of fire. Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service." He lifted her body, in case she wanted to make a quick getaway, as though frightened he'd hurt her body if she tried to retreat from him. She tore her hands away from his, tilting her body to the side as she crossed her arms, partially irate. "You doth love me, ay?"

"Nay. I do not feel such passion." Her voice wavered partially, as she cursed herself for allowing the tone of her voice to quiver.  
"To lie to a man be a sin. To lie in the presence of God be a vaster sin. But to lie to your very own heart, Duchess-"  
"Just what doth thee imply?"

"We hath met previously, in the planes of a past life. I feel it, in the most vital, thrumming organ." He held his palm against her heart, as his inner conscious lay perplexed by the words escaping his lips; it was almost as if he was possessed, his true vision clouded by a thick black mist, some transmundane creature governing his actions. He studied the woman before him, permanently in denial of their vague past.

"Never before hath I laid eyes upon thee. Prithee, leave. Thine spirit triggered discomforting, and thusly I depart. Sweet, good night."  
"O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" He gulped faintly at his boldness, hoping to god he hadn't stepped out of line. He watched the woman step away and cross her arms, a dispersion of anger rising in her cheeks.

"What satisfaction canst thou possibly have tonight?"

"Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine."

"For what purpose? I love thee not, now begone, for thee be to me as a vermin pest."

He launched his arm out, grasping hold of her arm as he pulled her back against his body, holding her in a protective clutch.

"Duchess... My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." She blanked his meagre attempts of flattery, shifting her gaze away in a prideful manner.  
"Such words are as futile when lost from companioned proof."  
"O, Duchess, this bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet."

"Be not be upon me as drunkard upon inn server's wench: waste not your breath with commiserable words."  
"Nay, Duchess. Words hold power. Strength. 'Pon verified words and I am certain thou wilt my merchandise upon the hour." She met his gaze, a glint of her challenging nature rising in her heart.  
"Aloof insolence, disdained from truth. Contemptuousness arise in a beating state, thine ego deceive you one day, good Sir. Challenge me? Ay, such cheek of an urchin. An you win?"  
"You doth confess of your love?" She narrowed her eyes at his tenacious nature, holding a stern gaze upon his begging face.

"An if I victor?" He scoffed in a state of derision, holding her tighter as he edged his face closer to hers.  
"Doubts arise, milady."  
"Doubts cloud your vision, good Sir. Tempt unruly sins to stained spirits." He smirked at her words, as he began to trace his lips against her stained cheek.  
"A physical pact?"  
"Ay, brandished. Shake upon vow; but to proved as an honest gentleman? Play fair. Play pious, praiseworthy man." His grip tightened around her waist, holding her in a protective embrace, as though averse to allowing any other man set neither eyes nor hands upon his beloved. She began to resist his comprise, struggling to push his hefty arms encaging her in flamed mists of mistaken benevolence.

"Milord, you doth hurt me."  
"Ay." She scowled at his callous tone, trembling upon contact of his husky breath along her spine, as though a lethal poison was surging through her enclosing veins. "Such fruitful, young-eyed, songs doth arouse from thine lingering music. Thou art more beautiful than a bouquet of cherubic rose; Ah! How the play of light upon your shoulders does bring one to reminisce of fallen feathers scattered from wingèd immortals, as they doth billow thro' blissed streams."  
"An which, wherefore thou doth welt me?"  
"I love thee as I sure love breathing. Confess." He held her closer, brushing his lips across the curve of her neck, nuzzling the flesh with delicate actions. His inner conscious smirked at the timid squeak escaping her lips, one that soon escalated into a coy moan, silently shattering his realm.

He watched her companion split the two, taking the woman away with a harsh stare, as though certain of the impure thoughts running through his mind, in regards to the enchanting sun; he called after them, attracting unwanted attention from the masked crowds, pinning their eyes upon the yelling man in a berserk manner. The lady flashed back a vicious scowl, as though warning him to back away from his true love, a futile act, if he said so himself. He chased them, pushing through the crowds, searching through the distant seas, similarly to a sailor. Her image may have been lost through the elements, but he could still sense her presence, leading further and further away from her companion as though to distain him from his hunt. He came up behind the companion, finding her pivot and slap him across the face in a disparaged manner.

"I warn thee, good Sir. Cometh not to this abode once more. The Lady need not of your acquaintance. Depart yourself."  
"Nay, never. Never 'til the floods, 'nor rapture. Never 'til meteors doth scatter and scar the planet's orb. Never, so long my sun hath life, and burns and shines beauteous rays 'nto my life." He gulped softly, finding guards gather around him, as he became aware of the commotion aroused by his confessions. He bore a grin, bracing himself as he held his hands high above his head in a prisoner like fashion.

"Stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me." He shifted his gaze to the angered woman before him, sensing _her_ presence buried somewhere closer than before, as though she was doubting her retreat. "So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge thy glutton bosom?"

"Ah, a man with words, a blacksmith of words, a wielder of words; be that your lone attack, I bury not in woe. A word-player? A player of some sort, by the looks; foul defacer of God's handiwork: sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, a poor unminded outlaw sneaking home. Be not sneak, let us escort. Refusal to leave leaves but one in disdained environment. I warneth thee but once more: you wilt leave, and you wilt leave the fair Lady alone. Surely even such a lowly urchin could understand such words."

"Deny'd. Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty to make thy riches pleasant. Amuse me: in which realm wilt I listen to such snide? Such ridicule? Thine forward voice, now, is to speak well of thine friend; thine backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. Doth she not input a word?" He watched the embers settle over her face, sensing his love's tears shed from the closing environment, the sole soul keeping him alive, fuelling his desire to protect. He gulped his weaknesses, harnessing his strength under the blissful thought of his love's touch; he craved to hear the angelic voice but once more.

"One half of me is yours, the other half yours. Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours. Such is my love, to thee I so belong, that for thy right myself will bear all wrong." His eyes grew as his prayers became answered, shifting his gaze up towards the saccharine voice, a thousand times more heavenly than a choir of guardians singing their chorus.

"All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. Our pact?"  
"Upon thought, separation cut deep. Perhaps a fraction doth crave for insanity, Sir. Guards, back down. Milady, retreat. Prithee for salvation upon goodwill, salvation arriveth 'pon winged chariot." She held out her hand for him to take, her face lighting up instantly upon contact of his warm skin. "Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast."

"Wilt thee grant me a kiss, milady?" She froze from his words, turning as she drew out a shallow breath, considering her options laid out before her. She held a dignified stance, bracing herself for her confession.  
"Ay, soldier." His inner conscious grinned, taking her by the hands as he drew her closer, as their bodies pressed together in a precarious manner. Her curious nature piqued, as her blushes blazed under her pixie flesh, their heads closing in on their own accord. His lips hovered merely an inch above hers, as he felt the warm breath of hers wash against him, purifying his soul with the taste of honey lingering against the petalled flesh.

A star grew within him, spontaneously combusting into a thousand sparks, flames capturing his body in the blissful lust coursing through his system. He loved her. He needed her. His heart craved for her ambrosial touch. Though events had quickened, the kiss was his aim. He wouldn't pray for any more, nor less; if he gained more, he would still be held content. The seconds pulsated in time with her pulsing skin, as he was dangerously close to the scarlet streams, inches beneath her flesh. With the kiss, a verbal contract wouldn't be needed, as he'd capture her soul, and claim his possession, all within a simple connection of their lips. As he drifted closer and closer, he could feel the world slowing around him.

_"ICHIGO! DINNER!" _

He found himself fading, as though his body was turning into that of a ghost, as he swept into a wave of panic, his mind sucked away from the now frozen environment, glancing around the room frenzied. He had to get that kiss! His spirit returned to his body in a swift sudden movement, jolting life into his hollow shell of a body once more. He gasped, taking in Oxygen for the first time in god knew how long, as he lifted his face from the desk, finding his textbook plastered to his reddened cheek. He scanned the room, taking a moment to orientate himself, feeling the desire to break himself for mistaking his dreams for reality, finding his bedroom his only environment.

Something felt missing, something important. He peeled the book from his face, unaware of the imprint left by the now moist pages, glancing at his clock to check the time. 5:05. He frowned, certain he couldn't have been asleep for a whole hour, as his ears pinned back, hearing a faint voice echo from the background. He slapped his hand against his forehead, scrambling about for a pen and paper, desperate to make a note of the name, so he wouldn't forget it again. He clutched onto a discarded Biro, scrawling _Orihime Inoue_ across a notepad left open, noting her identity next to it, so the name wouldn't be meaningless at a later date.

"ICHI-NII! YOUR DINNER IS GETTING COLD!"

He snapped to attention instantly, finding the voice become louder, and translatable, as he shouted back to his younger sister that he'd "only be a minute". He looked down at his attire, finding himself still clad in his school uniform, feeling an unusual feeling leak from within his trousers. Feeling uncertain, he unzipped them, removing them as he searched through his closet for a pair of skinny jeans, tossing them onto the bed as he did so. He looked down at his shorts, groaning as he saw the stained white liquid sticking to the interior fabric; he fished out a box of handkerchiefs from under his bed, as he tried wiping the remnants of the liquid from his erect state, which proved to be a difficult task.

"ICHIGO! Get your butt down here for dinner this instant; how dare you make your starving old man wait!"  
"I'm coming!" He blanked the hidden innuendo, hoping to God he could make it go down before he had to; he glanced down at his hand movements, realizing he was making it even worse if anything by rubbing it that way. He shrugged, merely carrying on, continuing the dream in his mind.

Their lips collided, spreading a meteor shower to cast over the manor, setting each room alight with the tempest deeds they exchanged. He moaned softly, finding himself be correct about the honey taste, flicking his tongue against her lips in an attempt to part them. She complied with his desire, tilting her head as she pushed her tongue forward, as the two battled for control. So far, she was winning, not that it bothered him too much; the taste of her was oh so alluring, he swore that he would perform any request of hers, just to taste her lips once more. His hands clutched her waist, as they both felt their environments shift to that of a private scenery, an elegantly designed chamber owned by the Duchess herself. He didn't take any time to absorb his surroundings, he merely glimpsed around for the bed and took her there, as they both sat on the silk covers; the mattress let off a faint squeak under the pressure, as his hands came up, brushing her bangs out of the way of her porcelain face, studying the maiden's blushing face intensely.

"Eternity is in our lips and eyes, bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor but is a race of heaven." He recited the lines flawlessly, murmuring her name as his lips swept up over her temple. "Pulsing crystals as crimson as ever; it be disturbing that angels can bleed. If blood runs, blood bleeds, an so, call me your protector."  
"Ay, soldier. I hath seen plenty today. Thou art my protector." She breathed out a sigh, content with the pleasure surging through her. "Protect me to your heart's content."  
"The awe of the gliding messenger; such beauty, such grace from the heavenly race. Your beauty doth make flowers weep, my love."  
"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

Ichigo smiled at her cherub spirit, as he trailed his fingers down her bodice, setting both sets of clothing alight with a desirous flame, scorching not a single inch of skin, as the fabrics disintegrated under the feather-light touch of his fingertips.  
"Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, and by and by clean starved for a look. The prize of all too precious you." He took a deep breath, studying her bare body laid out before him, as his hands followed the paths of her curvaceous figure; her slim waist led on to her child-bearing hips, curved out beautifully with a spacious nature. The flat plane of her stomach amplified her breast size, as the two globes rested peacefully in his palms upon contact. "Whoever loved that loved not at first sight?" He lifted his gaze, meeting hers, both drowning in the lust filling the air; her lower lip quivered faintly, as her brows creased, knitting together in an awe-inspiring state. Her breasts rose and fell as her lungs took their fill of air, making them seem larger than truth; she pushed the man back against the bed, forcing a partly startled groan to escape his lips.

In real time, he'd retreated to his bed, as he lay sprawled across the sheets, groaning her name over and over as he became all the more sucked into his fantasy. Her head rested on level with his manhood, blinking at the erect unit displayed before her, which throbbed faintly under her warm breath. She pouted her rose lips, closing her eyes as she drew her breath in, taking the length into her cheeks. She began sucking slowly, moaning a sigh each time she heard him groan her name with a clear tone of carnal indulgence. Her silk tongue stalked the length, teasing him as she giggled naïvely, the mere proximity blasting volts throughout his very blood; she began to shift her head forward and backward, secretly glad to not be a victim of the dreaded gag reflex, surprising herself as she managed to fit the entire length in.

The slick strands of auburn hair rippled from her shoulders with each motion, as his inner demon buried his hands into the tufted flames, holding her in place by her skull. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her buoyant head, certain whatever she was doing to him was rupturing all fragments of logic he had left in his mind. She began to slow her actions, lifting her gaze to meet his as she continued sucking; her blossomed lips made a soft popping sound whenever she came to the top of the head, circling the tip with her tongue in a soft motion. Her dainty hands began massaging the base, taking an orb in each hand, kneading them with a gentle passion. She brushed the head with the side of her flustered cheek, nuzzling into the warmth leaking from his loving soul. She grazed enamel pearls across the head, before continuing her wanted attacks.

"Orihime..." His low growl seemed to come in the form of a warning, as though scorning her for her teasings, a warning that came in a self-explanatory manner, one that read: _don't you dare stop_. She kept a constant eye contact with him, her eyes glazed and flickering with her amorous nature; his eyes traced her lips curving up into a shy smile around his tip, watching her hands glide up over the flesh to massage the remaining length untouched by her mouth. He knew he couldn't hold back for any longer, as the handkerchief became torn to shreds under the heated friction of his palm moving so fast; his thumb brushing across the tip stimulating the flames blazing within his the pit of his stomach. He shook his head from side to side, biting his lips to quieten his climax, failing as the groans pushed past the enamel barricade, shattering the serene atmosphere, as the reality and his dream world collided with a severe blow.

His breathing became strident yet hollow, his heavy pants layering his room as he collapsed his torso against the bed. Though he was tender in that area, feeling himself unstiffen, he glanced over at his clock, figuring he had time; he didn't care much for dinner, when he had all the pleasure in the world stem from his very heart. He continued the fantasy, determined to gain more from his fortunately perverted mind. She hid her grins from his view, as she felt him tense, his grip tightening on her skull, thrusting in deep as he climaxed, uttering her name to the world with a heart-stalling groan. She struggled to hold back her blushes, as she gathered the produce in her mouth, unwilling to spill a single drop of the sacred liquid. Her doe eyes clouded over, as they grew broad with undeniable lust. He loosened his hands clutching her skull, allowing her to gulp away, before drifting her lips up on an exhilarant expedition.

Her tongue travelled north from his manhood, across his pelvis, circling his navel, taking her time at each milestone. No words could be uttered, whether it was Japanese, English, or an older form of English, as the two shared a gaze that all but screamed of their love. She parted her slim thighs, lifting her up over his body in a dominant manner, as she placed her hands over his muscled abdomen, savouring the sweet after-taste left in her mouth. As her thighs parted, she brushed his manhood against her folds, beckoning her lover to take entrance into her haven.

"You may enter, milord; as a lost explorer may upturn on an inn wife's doorstep, make entrance to the beckoning hearth." Her breaths became in an arousing manner, as her eyes gleamed a thousand shades of silver and gold, amber shades reflecting in her gaze from a flickering candle out of the corner of his eye.  
"An hundred years should go to praise, thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; two hundred to adore each breast; but thirty thousand to the rest; an age at least to every part, and the last age should show your heart; for, Lady, you deserve this state, nor would I love at lower rate." She nodded, understanding his concerned words, merely leaning her body over his, brushing her breasts against his collar bone, her lips against his warm cheek.

"I am as sure as the sun doth move. Milord, take me." He raised his eyebrow, sweeping in with a heart-stirring kiss, stealing her breath in a swift motion. His thumb brushed past her shoulder, sending tingles down her spine, as his free hand positioned his erect state at her entrance, breathing deeply as he mentally prepared himself. "Vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it; milord, I doth apologize for my deceit: I love thee, as an eagle doth love height, as a streamer doth love river, as goddess Diana doth love all."  
"Duchess-"

"A title is but an earned name. A name is but a given title. An which, call me Orihime, milord."  
"Orihime... Upon which you call me Ichigo?"  
"Ay... Whatever you desire, protector," He watched her back straighten, as she rose to her previous position, blessing his heart with a thousand roses under her warm touch.

"You wear vestal livery?" She blushed at his personal question, telling herself that there was no privacy between the two now.  
"My lone wish, sweet: not for long."  
"I doth don it."  
"Then we be upon the same ship."  
"Ay, Orihime,"

She bit her lip at his confession of virginity, lowering her hips towards his in an effort to receive his love. He smiled sweetly, absorbing the features of her face, the final remnant of innocence, before he thrusted in deep, crushing the obstacle in his path.  
"Ichigo...!" Her moans filled the air as her back arched, digging her nails in softly to the flesh of his abdomen, striking a match within him as the kindle became ablaze in an instant. The thrusts began slowly, as though they wished to make the ordeal last for an eternity, as his solemn eyes glazed over, making silent vows to worship every last inch of flesh on this woman's body, until the end of time itself. Her moans filled his mind, as he imagined her sweet-sounding voice, merely based on the few words he had heard her speak so far. Ichigo paused, frowning, feeling some part of him ashamed by his inner deviant taking up so much control of his mind.

He shook away the thoughts, returning to his real self, holding the fantasy on pause for a later time, one where continuing his pleasures would be a lot less painful. He took out another handkerchief, cleaning the remains, before searching his room for a hiding place for his soiled boxers, retrieving fresh ones, and dressing himself in them. He took the jeans from his bed, determined to not make his family wait any longer for his attendance, as he swiftly unbuttoned his school shirt, fishing out a random shirt from his closet, not entirely caring what shirt it was he retrieved. So he had fallen in love at a ridiculous time, with a ridiculous woman, with a ridiculous him. The reasons were rushed, as even he knew the facts behind it all: he'd only met her a matter of hours ago, and yet here he was, fantasizing over her, as if he had known her his entire life, acting as though she was the only woman in the world. He was being irrational, sure, but he was drawn to her...

He knew he loved her somehow, so surely that was reason enough to any who might have had criticism. Maybe he was insane, with his imagination conjuring all that Shakespeare crap, but somehow... He felt as if it all held a meaning of some sort; He needed her in his life, and whatever was going to happen, he'd sure as hell keep her by his side. If they'd ever meet again, that was.


End file.
